


Faded Memories

by Ruunkur



Category: Digimon Adventure
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 18:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruunkur/pseuds/Ruunkur
Summary: Maybe if you just return to him, to apologize, you will be free.





	Faded Memories

**Author's Note:**

> One shot I wrote awhile back. Enjoy! I don't even remember writing this!

It's quiet when you approach the door. You swallow, raising your hand for just a moment before lowering it once more. You had done this for the past several hours, debating whether you should knock, if you should call out.

You stand, eyes closed as you breathe, in and out. You wonder what the world would be like, if everything hadn't happened the way it did. The air is pressing around you and you have to sit. You slump against the wall, resting your head back and shuddering.

It had been storming, when you last spoke with him. There had been an argument, you had been drinking. You had promised him-though you weren't sure how serious you had been at the time-that you would stop.

You grimace, listening to the thunder outside. There's a shuddering from inside you and you realize that you're crying. You had been released, and you had nowhere else to go. You hide your face, pressing it into your knees. It's several minutes before you finally collect yourself, heart beating faster. No one had come in or out of the other apartments and this you're greatful for.

You pull yourself up, rubbing the back of your hand over your eyes. You gather yourself, thinking it would be unwise to let him see you in such a state. You raise your hand, finally gathering the courage and knocking.

The quiet echoes back to you and you turn in on yourself, glancing at the nameplate that states who's apartment this was. Perhaps you had been unlucky, he was out when you decided to visit. It may have been-

"Yamato?"

You blink, hands hanging out your side when you see him open the door. Your mouth is dry and you're watching himm, considering what you could tell him in exchange for everything that had happened.

"I'm sorry," you say, taking a step back. You mentally curse as the words leave your mouth. "I'm sorry," you say again, resolve starting to crumble.

"Would you like to come in?" He asks, stepping to the side and gesturing for you to enter.

"I..." You hesitate but nod, stepping past him, through the doorway and into the small apartment. It's messy, just as you remember him being.

"I wasn't expecting company, otherwise I would have cleaned up. Can I get you anything to drink?" He asks, as if the last time you had talked, you hadn't fallen to hurting each other, a pattern both of you had realized was terrible to continue. A pattern you had broken and agreed that, if it ever happened again, you would talk about it.

As if it hadn't been years since you had seen each other. It was...it was strange to be standing here, to remember the blood-

"Just, water, please." You say, shifting and taking off your shoes by the door.

"What do I owe this visit?" The man asks, moving around the kitchen.

"I came to apologize," you say finally. He gestures for you to join him at the table, setting a glance of water down. You hesitate, wondering if you should leave before walking into the apartment properly, taking a seat at the table.

"Apologize?" He asks, tipping his head back.

"For the last time we....saw each other." You say finally, taking the glass and fiddling with it, gratefully taking a sip of water.

"Oh," he says finally. He sighs, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and stares at you. He hasn't changed, brown eyes unwavering, hair sticking up in every direction. You had been screaming at each other. The shattering of glass, the blood- "Why now?" He asks finally. "It's been... What, five years, six, since we last saw each other?"

"Guilt," you say after a moment, wishing your hands would be still. But, you are hardly still now. You can't seem to find the stillness that you want. "Part of the therapy process," you admit.

"Therapy huh?" He asks.

"Yeah," you say finally, pressing your hands flat to the table.

"I thought you were dead," he says finally. "Great of you to show up now though, for therapy reasons."

"I'm an asshole," you comment. "I know that and...I'm trying to get better."

"Are you planning on crawling back here, offer me some pretty sob story, and think I'll...what, take you back?" He asks, arching an eyebrow.

"No," you respond.

"Are you on drugs?" He asks.

"No," you say with a shake of your head.

"Drunk? Though, you don't seem drunk." He adds before you could even shake your head. "If you were drunk, you wouldn't be able to walk in a straight line. I don't get it." He says, thoughtfully and still giving you that look.

"There's really nothing for you to...get." You say after a moment. "I'm not here expecting acceptance. I'm here because I feel as if...closure is impossible unless I speak with you."

"So you're here to fix your guilt." He asks, other hand tap-tap-tapping on the table.

"It won't fix it," you say, almost too softly. "I know I fucked up. It's been eight years and each day, I've wondered what would have happened if that didn't happen. But, this is the path that life took. I fucked up, and I am finally seeking the help I need for it. I'll be on my way, if you'll..." You hesitate, unsure as you see several emotions flicker through his eyes. The soft, warm brown eyes that are staring at you coldly, trying to guess your intentions.

"No, I'm curious as to what happened." He says. "Please, regale me with a tale of how you ended up on my doorstep eight years, to the day, of when you nearly killed me."

You nearly flinch under his words, but you did not move a muscle. You take a breath and finally shake your head. "After that night...I lost about five years, woke up in a hospital with several broken bones, slit wrists, questionable bruising and five years of memories that I can't tell up from down about. Spent two years in physical therapy and on my third year of talking to a therapist." You explain.

"Huh," he comments, eyes locked on you. "So you're not going to even offer an interesting story?"

"No," you shake your head, taking a drink of water. You recall waking up in the hospital, panicked and in so much pain. The doctors had managed to contact your father and, after some confusing statements and talks with the doctors, your brother. He had still been your primary contact, with your father as a secondary contact.

"That would explain the hospital calling," he says finally. "Yamato?"

You glance up, watching him stand. You can't read the expression on his face and you're scared.

"Yes?" You say finally.

"Who am I?" The man asks, pointing to himself.

You open your mouth, feeling as if your mouth is full of cotton. You can't move, you feel cold the more you struggle to say his name.

"I-" you whisper, tears coming to your eyes. All you do these days is cry.

"Who am I?" He asks, taking a step closer to you. You see the scars on his face from his face meeting the glass door. You see the blood covering him as you dialed the police, sobbing that there had been an incident, slurring your words so much that they had to make you repeat yourself several times.

"You're...you." You say finally, lost as to how he wanted you to answer.

"What's my name?" He asks and you shake your head, bringing your hands up to your ears.

"Taichi," you say finally. Your voice sounds muffled and you watch the man in front of you nod. You see him move, taking your hands away from your ears.

"You can wake up now," he whispers and you shudder, shaking your head. You never wanted to wake up, not when you knew he wasn't there.

But you will, even if you have to remind yourself why.


End file.
